“There you are!” He held out a copy of the Times. Finally, something she recognized.“It’s Monday, February eighth.” He paused for effect. “1926.” “1926? Ninety years in the past? Wow.” She had to sit. This was all too much. “I know.” He flipped through the paper while Quinn ducked behind a bush to change. “You should read this, Europe has almost five million unemployed. If only they knew what’s coming.” Quinn, new dress and shoes on, pursed her lips and turned around. He was engrossed in the newspaper. “Excuse me,” she said when she joined him on the bench. “Listen to this. Mussolini is Prime Minister of Italy and wants to be addressed as Il Duce—the leader. Yeah that’s a great sign…Tsk.” “Hey!” Quinn slapped the newspaper down to the ground. “What are you doing? I was reading that!” “Hello?” Quinn jumped up, fresh out of patience. “I’m glad you found something to entertain yourself with, but unless you intend to spend the rest of your life marveling at all the things you know that they don’t, you best get dressed and help me get home!” All the light drained out of his face. Much as she hated it, he needed to be shook up sometimes. Michael, smart as he was, had a habit of getting lost in the past. Which was ironic, since they were literally lost in the past.